


Petite Frill

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Awkwardness, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Canon ages, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Foreskin Play, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Trans Female Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: Offering to give your girlfriend a blowjob while her brother is away isn't one of Bede's best ideas, but at the very least, it isn't his worst.
Relationships: Beet | Bede/Mary | Marnie
Kudos: 16





	Petite Frill

**Author's Note:**

> I think Piers would absolutely kill Bede given the chance, but I also feel like Piers is a siscon just like how Leon is a brocon so...he just has that energy.

“Bede, can you hurry up? Big Bro’s goin’ to be back in half an hour.”

Despite Marnie’s impatience, more worry than any true annoyance, Bede’s hands don’t move, instead remaining firmly on the towel, white cotton soft underneath his fingertips and bed creaking slightly with the motion.

“It’ll be fine,” he says before shifting slightly, wood floor digging uncomfortably into his knees. He isn’t particularly fond of everything—the plushies, overly cutesy and beady eyes gazing downward at them from their shelves, the walls, dark colored wood adorned with a multitude of posters, and even simply the furniture, fixtures set with white lace and all pink enough to rival Opal’s sitting room—but it hadn’t been his choice, more Marnie’s and a consequence of need rather than anything else. “He’s supposed to be meeting Victor in Hammerlocke, right? That’s an hour at the least.”

He could be certain of that. Rather unfortunately, he’s taken enough trips, detours and all, with Victor to understand that. Really, he isn’t even sure why Piers humors him as much as he does.

But still, he doesn’t particularly want his first sexual experience to be in his girlfriend’s bedroom, not with how girlish everything is and with the looming fear of her brother appearing, but there hadn’t been many other options, nothing that would preserve secrecy and decency anyhow.

His bedroom hadn’t been an option either, room set too close to Opal’s and aftermath most likely easy to pry out.

Opal, unlike Piers, isn’t particularly dull-witted or overly oblivious—too sharp-eyed and keen-nosed. Secrecy wouldn’t be possible.

Nonetheless, he still isn’t entirely fond of their location, cuteness overbearing and a bit awkward and plushies staring. Perhaps it’s performance anxiety, as ridiculous as it is, but he doesn’t want an audience, inanimate or not and certainly not one numbering in the dozens.

At the very least, Marnie had the decency and tact to flip over the framed pictures of her brother. He isn’t quite sure what he would have done otherwise. He doesn’t want her brother, albeit pictures of him, watching them. It’s awkward enough with the stuffed animals.

Bede shifts again before his hand moves to settle lightly on Marnie’s knee, palm sweating slightly despite the running fan, noise deafening in the near-quiet. “Can you lift your dress, please?”

Not particularly romantic, but he isn’t quite sure of how else to broach the subject, not without being overly forward.

Thankfully, Marnie doesn’t comment, fingers instead moving to the hem of her dress, fabric then delicately lifted upward to reveal her panties, front already wet from arousal and bulging slightly. It isn’t a particularly practiced motion, hesitant and unintentionally coquettish in its inexperience, but Bede finds his breath hitching anyway, nervousness intermingling with a peculiar anticipation.

Though, despite his anticipation, he isn’t quite sure of what to do, how to begin and how to please, and by the slight furrow of her brow and the slight shake of her hands, Marnie doesn’t either.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she says after a few moments of pause, silence and inaction overbearing. “If you’re not comfortable, we can do somethin’ else. Watch a movie?”

Bede shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’m fine with it if you are I mean.”

It isn’t particularly apt, more awkward and a bit embarrassing than anything else, but at Marnie’s nod, Bede leans forward, pressing his lips against the bulge, tongue poking out to lick at her covered cock.

Lace slightly scratchy against his tongue and a bit salty and warm despite the thin layer of cloth, he isn’t quite certain of what he should do even as his hands move to settle on her inner thighs, fingers pushing at the edges of her panties and inward to stroke at the sweaty skin, fingertips occasionally brushing against the base of her cock and at her balls.

It isn’t good, objectively good. He’s too inexperienced for that, motions clumsily imitated from pornos rather than drawn from experience, but at the very least, Marnie doesn’t push him away. He only hears the bed creak before hands move to settle in his hair, fingers pulling lightly at the curls and urging him forward.

When his fingers pull aside the fabric, revealing a small, erect cock, he presses his lips against the shaft, tongue lapping at the warm length and motion drawing a pleased noise, soft and high, from Marnie and a twitch from his own cock. His other hand moves to stroke at the head, gently pushing back the foreskin and fingertips rubbing at the wet, pink tip and the leaking slit before sliding downward once more to massage her balls, weight heavy against his palm and fingers pressing gently along the crease.

Dragging his tongue upward, tongue then pressing against slit and swirling around the head, Bede feels the grip in his hair tighten and hears another moan, noise drawing another twitch from his own cock, slit similarly leaking and straining against his boxers, fabric uncomfortably tight and stained by pre-cum.

He wants to touch himself, undo the buttons of his pants and pull down his boxers, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to stop touching her, hands fondling along the length and at the pale flesh of her thighs and at the crease where groin meets thigh, skin sweaty yet soft. Licking once more at the head, tip pushing into the slit, his tongue soon slides further downward to play with the foreskin, wetness slipping underneath and lips gently pulling at it, motions just enough to draw another soft moan from Marnie and a light tug on his hair.

Hands tightening in his hair, she shudders, cheeks flushing and words clumsy. “C-can you…”

Marnie doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. With their current activities, he understands her request well enough.

Mouth moving upward, lips peppering kisses along the length, Bede stops once more at the head, tongue flicking outward to lap at the slit, saliva and pre-cum mixing and dripping downward, before he engulfs her cock in his mouth, tongue pressing against the underside of her cock as his lips slide downward around the wet length.

Much like with his previous ministrations, it isn’t quite good, not in the objective sense or even simply by his standards, but Marnie doesn’t complain, voice soft, sometimes wincing and noise met with another caress upon her thigh, motion apologetic and a bit awkward.

That, at the very least, is good enough for him.

Feeling another tug on his hair, pulling away rather than forward, Bede withdraws, mouth pulling away from her cock with a low pop.

He almost expects a complaint then, but Marnie only shakes her head, voice still hesitant and somewhat stuttering and hands leaving his hair and coming to rest upon the towel.

“Can you…” Another pause as she collects herself. “Can you get on the bed, please? I want to try something.”

Words awkward, lacking in finesse and words drawing another flush from them both, but Bede complies, hoisting himself onto the bed. Even when Marnie’s hands move to unbutton his pants, buttons neatly unfastening, and pull out his cock from its confines, he isn’t quite certain of her goals. Sex certainly, but nothing otherwise.

It’s only when she draws closer and presses their cocks together, hand tugging upward and downward in a clumsy rhythm, spit mixing with sweat and pre-cum, that he understands.

Awkward and clumsy, it isn’t particularly good, sometimes too quick, sometimes too slow, and lacking in that certain deliberateness, but he finds himself panting anyway, hand coming to cover hers, broad over slender, and similarly moving.

It should be gross—he doesn’t like the idea of his own spit on his cock—but he doesn’t mind as much as he should. It’s Marnie after all.

He likes Marnie—the sound of her voice, mild and soothing, the little habits, from the noticeable, accent endearing, and to the things she doesn’t notice, and everything else, encompassing—and the differences between them, some going without say, aesthetics radically differing, and others only noticeable in the privacy of now: the difference in noise, her voice lower than his, the difference in touch, hers gentler than his, and the difference in appearance, broad-shouldered to slender-bodied and sex slightly differing, his cut and smaller to hers, foreskin intact.

There is a fascination to everything, some comfortably warm and others searing, vulgar and unspeakable in public.

He feels another tug on his cock, motion once again rubbing his against hers, lengths slick, before Marnie leans forward, pressing her lips against his, tongue poking against his mouth and soon accepted inward: wet, messy, and eager.

The kisses, at the very least, are better than everything else, more practiced and less reluctant, owing to experience.

Pressed together as they are, clothes dirtying with each motion, flesh rubbing against flesh and fabric against fabric, it doesn’t take long for them to cum, Marnie first and then Bede, both noisy, skin flushed and sweaty and fluid dripping onto their hands and onto the towel beneath them.

He isn’t quite sure of what to do now—he hasn’t even removed his hand yet—but thankfully, Marnie speaks first, having pulled away.

“We should clean up,” she says, succinct, before frowning. “Though, I told you we should have set another towel. The floor’s dirty now.”

It isn’t the best sort of end to everything, lacking in the sensuality of before, but at the very least, it’s something, another reminder of the practicality he has come to expect from Marnie and undoubtedly better than the awkwardness that would have come if he were to speak first.

“Mm-hmm.” Bede withdraws his hand before wiping it on the towel. “Sorry.”

Marnie shakes her head, still frowning. “It’s fine. It’s just…my brother, you know? He doesn’t really like you. Don’t know how long it’ll take to clean up either.”

“It’ll be fine. He’s with Victor, remember? They won’t be here for a while.”

By her expression, she doesn’t quite believe him.

“Really,” he reassures. “Victor takes forever. Remember when he almost missed the opening ceremony? It’ll be fine.”

Marnie nods, brow still furrowed slightly in worry.

“It’ll be fine,” he repeats. “If you’re worried, I can get Hatterene to help.”

He leans forward, pressing a closemouthed kiss to her lips before withdrawing, taking her hands in his.

It’s awkward and cliché, even he understands the triteness of his actions, motions more fit for a kitschy film, but at the very least, it gets Marnie to smile, small and soft, and her brow to unfurrow.

That, at the very least, is enough for him.

Why shouldn’t it be?

After all, he likes Marnie in her entirety.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually do like Bede/Marnie because I think it's cute. I just never get to write it because I have so many projects going on usually...it's just like Hop/Marnie/Bede for me. I never have time for it...and I guess the other appeal is Victor and Bede having to become brother-in-laws with no say in it...
> 
> Though, I am a bit reluctant to take the frottage tag since the definition is rather narrow, but it's close enough imo. This ficlet is supposed to act like a "Etch-a-sketch shake" and try and get me out of the "Victorian prose writer" setting I'm currently stuck on. I'm just not aggressive enough for the Piers/trans!Victor/Obstagoon fic I wanna do right now...the chosen tags and kinks for that are like..."Trois March" levels of bewildering/author appeal, so I can't approach it sane and flowery...but I missed my window for aggression this month...ah...if only it were still legal and expected for writers to get coke'd up before writing...it'd be easier then...writing is hard...


End file.
